


Aberrant

by Corroding_Clockwork



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 04:54:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1927356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corroding_Clockwork/pseuds/Corroding_Clockwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And then there are times they close their eyes and pretend they could be something more than just walking disasters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aberrant

**Author's Note:**

> I've published this fic on tumblr already a few months back and it seemed pretty well liked so eh, what the hell, I'll put it here too.
> 
> EDIT: [tatsumiyaa](http://tatsumiyaa.tumblr.com/) drew a _wonderful_ fanart for this fic which you can find [here](http://tatsumiyaa.tumblr.com/post/91555951352/isnt-that-what-you-do-when-you-hurt-someone-you).

    Koujaku doesn't kiss him the first time they fuck, nor the time after that, nor the time after  _that_. It's rough and tipsy and half the time he's pressed up against a brick wall somewhere at an ungodly hour rather than slipping beneath bed sheets and affection. They're forbidden from saying names--though sometimes one of them slips and grunts out the title of a blue-haired male who isn't even  _there_ \--and god forbid it be anything but a battle for dominance even with pants pooled around their ankles. 

    Scratch marks and brick-burn and bruises from biting too hard serve as battle scars in their haphazard attempt at self-repair, at indulgence in something so surreal they forget reality altogether. Then come their next meeting Koujaku can't look him in the eye and Aoba protests his angry, flustered attitude several times from the comfort of Clear's arms--Noiz makes an innuendo just to make things worse, and somehow he ends up sucking him off in the upstairs bathroom.

    Noiz doesn't mind; it's how he wants it anyway. 

\+ 

    There's a smug smirk plastered on his face, watching the blood trickle down Koujaku's chin and knowing he is the reason for it's existence. In truth he can't remember what they're fighting about but he also doesn't particularly  _care_. It's a rush, fighting someone who keeps up with his movements for once, and he's only making things worse by cocking his head to the side and sliding a tongue along chapped lips, said brims parting to make way for mockery. 

    " _What's wrong, old man? Losing steam? What happened to shutting me up?_ " 

    He gets a growl in return and his own fingers curl inward toward bandaged palms once more to prepare for return fire of whatever attack the elder male would take on next--and it serves useless, when that hit never comes. 

    Koujaku tastes like copper and smoke, he notes, dully. Fingers scrambling through each other's hair and neither of them have their eyes closed and-- 

    --Then they remember they're in Aoba's _home_ , and entirely able to be caught devouring each other in the man's bedroom, to which Noiz responds by punching him in the gut and Koujaku drags him down by the throat. Three males walk through the door in time to see Noiz dislocating Koujaku's shoulder and both of them are put in 'time-out' for a while.

    He can still recall the flavor hours later.

\+ 

    It is involuntary, his sitting upon the edge of Koujaku's bed with bandages being wrapped with annoying tenderness around his abdomen, pushed back down at every attempt to stand up and  **leave**. Noiz protests that he's fine, his remarks--copious in number--either ignored or given response in form of sharp order to  _shut up_. It isn't as though it takes long, but being tended to by another human being, particularly one that he personally  _dislikes_ , leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and a momentous urge to vomit. 

    " _Hold still, brat._ " 

    " _ **Make** me, old man._ " 

    In truth he is but a child in many sense of the word, narrowed eyes of peridot hue watching the freelancer with evident annoyance; it prompts a heavy sigh and in that, he takes a small sense of pride. Pushing his buttons is an  _art form_ that Noiz has long sense been able to pull off without much effort at all. The other glares and Noiz smirks back, earning himself a prompt smack to the back of his head. It doesn't bother him, barely even  _registers_ , and if only to be more of a nuisance he attempts to pull on the gauze now nearly finished being applied to his torso. 

    His hands are grabbed, pinned back down on the mattress in a fluid movement that catches him off guard though his expression remains blank, minus the cocking of a single brow in silent query. There isn't an answer, for a long, drawn out passage of silence in which the man hovering atop him seems to be contemplating something, hold loosening momentarily only to quickly tighten again. 

    " _Stop. I am **trying** to keep you from  **bleeding** all over yourself._ " Ah so that's it. He  **dislikes** it, when Noiz physically protests the treatment it would appear, though it fails to bother him nor leave him with any sense of guilt at all. Rather, he finds it funny, in a slightly irritating sense. 

    " _I didn't ask for help; I told you I didn't want it._ " Before the other can answer, Noiz lifts his lips, wrapping them around the swordsman's hips and leans up, breath ghosting over the other's lips. " _Hey--wanna fuck?_ " 

    To no one's surprise, the answer fails to even  _border_ on negative. 

\+ 

    They don't really know when it happened, Noiz sneaking into Koujaku's home and waiting for his arrival, injuries ranging from papercuts to dislocations to burns. He is always greeted with animosity, though he is always tended to regardless. Passes out on one side of the bed only to leave before dawn. 

    Recently, the freelancer has taken to sleeping alongside him. 

    And then Noiz doesn't leave before the sun rises, and he's greeted with breakfast and something he dares to call comfortable. That too, becomes habit, and he swears the ' _go home already, brat_ ' sounds almost  **affectionate**. 

\+ 

    They face each other for the first time; Noiz wonders how long Koujaku's been mouthing his name when he comes. 

\+ 

    And then they're back to hitting and punching and mocking only this time there is something  **haunting** about seeing the black eye plastered on Koujaku's face and knowing it came from his fist. 

    He throws up later and Koujaku can't look at himself in the mirror for a week. 

\+ 

    Noiz shows up with flowers that are roughly pushed against Koujaku's chest, offering explanation without being asked, already walking through the threshold as though it were his home too. 

    " _Isn't that what you do when you hurt someone you like?_ "  

    It's so offhanded and the other merely stands in the doorway for a full minute--in which time Noiz is sure to comment on the possibility of having already begun the process of rigor mortis--before setting the bouquet of nigelia down and where Noiz expects either rough sex or a punch in the face, he receives something infinitely far from both. Gentle, scarred hands cup his face and lips brush tentatively over his forehead, soft apology whispered in his ear. It's confusing, but he accepts it, closing his eyes and offering a quiet exhale in response. 

    He spends the night and for once it isn't spent with one of them over top the other, and when he wakes up to find soft breath on his neck and an arm draped over his stomach, he decides it couldn't hurt to go back to sleep for a while. 

\+ 

    " _What are we?_ " Noiz asks once, easily as he picks a piece of pepperoni from his pizza and pops it in his mouth, peripherals only somewhat focusing upon the face of the hairdresser. It's kind of funny when Koujaku chokes on his drink, earning a small smirk and a raised brow from Noiz that, in turn, causes him to be smacked in the back of the head not for the first or last time. 

    " _Don't look at me like that, brat._ " 

    " _Answer the question before you start getting rough with me._ " 

    Silence spreads between them, not from the hint at sexual activity--Noiz's forte is twisting Koujaku's words on their axis until they sound entirely too dirty--but from a hesitancy in answering the given query. He's patient, and he waits, until the other manages to form words in response that ultimately tells neither of them anything. 

    " _I don't know._ " 

    Noiz throws a pepperoni at him. 

\+ 

    It's six months and twelve days since since Noiz assaulted Koujaku with pizza toppings.

    Six months and ten days since Koujaku stuttered out an awkward date proposal. 

    Three months and two days since Noiz rolled over one morning and nonchalantly greeted him with ' _Hey, I love you._ ' 

    Two months and twenty days since Koujaku returned the sentiment to Noiz's face, and not whispered it into the blond hair of a sleeping nineteen year old. 

    Twenty-five days since since Noiz moved in with him--his apartment wasn't being used  _anyway_. 

    Three days since their last argument; Noiz won, but Koujaku won the last time so they figure it evens out.

    Noiz still doesn't know what to call them or this relationship they have, broken to the core and held together by threads that fray and snap as often as they form and strengthen, but he doesn't really  _care_ either. He doesn't  **need** a name for sleepy morning kisses and late night echoes of noses breaking and the fingers through his hair and the food fights that somehow lead to fucking so hard they break the table. 

    It's just **life** , and it's different, and it's fucked up and imperfect and he'd never consider trading it for another one.


End file.
